


The Purple Sky

by dev_chieftain



Category: Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev_chieftain/pseuds/dev_chieftain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Twilight Hour, another world touches ours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Purple Sky

Five years after Ganon's death, and the rain has eased off. Your cabin is more splinter than wood and your bed is dusty with disuse, but the worn rug on the floor still glimmers now and then with the fine threads that Ilia worked in, and it's more comfortable for the aches that plague your knee, your neck, your shoulder. You like to blow glass when you're not busy eking out a living.

Sometimes you take them, your little glass animals and monsters and dragons in to the town nearby, and hand them out to children, who delight at their bright colors. _How did you get this red?_ asked the littlest girl, a tousled thing with huge dark eyes. You told her about the magic fruit that only grows in a forest in a land far away from here, and she didn't believe you.

Then you lied, and told her it was dragon's blood. She liked that much better. Who knows, maybe dragon's blood has a similar hue.

Today you haven't got the stomach for the city. The port town bustles, Gorons and Zoras and humans, which are not so different from Hylians, crowd around the ships that have just pulled up their anchors. The sun is setting, cutting through the lingering cloud banks all around, that wreath the sky in deep twilight purple.

On your bench, in your humble little back yard, you've been working at a new trinket, sketching out designs.

A weight settles beside you.

"The tail looks off," whispers a bell through water, warped and weird and wobbling. "I'd curl it in if I were you. Balance it off so it won't always fall over."

You can hear wolves singing not far off, and when you smile, leaning back up into the bench and away from the little journal you've been drawing in, she reaches out to touch your hand. You're cold from the rain, the bench a little damp still beneath you. A chill late-winter wind is stirring your hair. Far below, the fishing ships have launched out into the sea and are putting out their nets, sailors calling to dolphins beneath and chattering. Their voices echo up in a wash of laughter and the smell of the sea, that same smell that's been calling to you all year.

Her fingers are comfortably warm.

When you meet her eyes, her smile is a wonderful thing, just the subtle way her lips twitch up and her nose crinkles like so. You shrug, unable to help the answering laugh that bubbles up out of your chest.

"Moving again, then? All the old battle scars must be hell by the sea." She casts a glance out over the beast that has your name, the seductress sea trying to lure you with her promise of the unknown far beyond this shore, of adventure. It's hard to read Midna's face, shadowed like this, though her brightly painted lips purse as she considers, seriously, the kind of time it will take to make whatever journey you are planning to make. You have never been the kind of man to really beat around the bush about things. You simply feel the need to move, and move. You never hesitate; you _do_. It drives everyone else mad, eventually. It drove Ilia to distraction, and Zelda could recognize it before you ever half-considered knocking at her door.

But not Midna. Never her.

"I'll come with you," she says at last, leaning closer, so you can rest your head on her high shoulder. You do, and her hand slides up into your hair, long fingers scratching gently at your scalp. "Impa has been handling things quite nicely, after all. I think she can keep things running on her own for a little while."

You know you will probably not be coming back this direction; after all, you already know what lies here, know every inch of the place, even secret passages in a ruined old museum nobody else ever bothered to search for. You know that Midna's little while is an indulgent way of pretending she is not telling you what you already know.

Where you go, you go together.

Always.


End file.
